


Unnecessary

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Wade's always talking, Nate's always dying. It's a sort of balancing act.





	Unnecessary

They don’t need words for what they have. It’s simple and messy and it just works.

It isn't a big romance like Aliya had been. There's no sentiment here, no tender brushing of fingers or eyes that Nate could drown into forever – if he tried, he suspects, his wrist would be broken. Forget poetry. Even more than that, forget any sort of words that could be traced to actual emotions at all.

Nate figures that's okay. He's good at making do with what he gets. Sometimes it's enough to catch the tail-end of Wade’s wondering looks, or the glint of concern that passes over the shadows of his face when Nate wakes up from nightmares suffocating enough to steal his air. They don't dance, or hold hands, or share walks under cherry blossoms falling, but Nate tries not to trip over the bags of ammo strewn around their shared apartment and Wade can pretend Nate isn’t eyefucking Domino every time they work together.

But it still feels really good when, sometimes in the morning, Wade kisses the palm of his TO hand before rolling out of bed. "I'll nuke us some breakfast," he mumbles, still caught up in sleep, and Nate finds love to be like waking up.

They don’t need words for it. _It_ is love but they never say it that way, for one reason or another. There’s no need, even as they march on toward Nate’s inevitable demise – and Wade to his, one day, but so much later. In the arrogance of all healthy things, they imagine they have forever to get things right.

They don't need the words anymore. Nate coughs and it bubbles out black, a squelching noise that covers anything he may have tried to say, anyway.

Wade is distantly aware that he's cursing – violently, wretchedly, making all sorts of weird bribes and promises like it will count for something; and it won't, Wade's credit has all dried up – but it's hard to listen to it, like if he tunes into what's spilling out his mouth he'll realize it's pretty much the same thing as Nate's, just bleeding it out, just worthless exposition.

The world narrows down when he's with Nate. It's like looking down a hallway that gradually tapers to a point – Wade thinks it's an illusion, but the trap is a reality. He remembers them talking over alcohol, the words that came out unbidden, confessions, confusions; burning touches in dark rooms that left branded fingerprints everywhere on Wade’s body, and now he's so caught up in it that the words aren't needed anymore, and the jerking, half-choked, "I'll hate you if you… I _love_ … _don't_ , don't do this…" becomes lost in the conclusion.

Nate twists under his hands, and falls still.

He’ll come back, they’ll clone him or teleport him back from the future or raise him from the dead like fucking Frankenstein’s monster. He doesn’t need to say anything anymore, not to this empty thing.

They don't need the words anymore, it's not like Nate ever listens to him even if they do. Wade finds himself saying them, anyway, because maybe he's looking for a magic spell or something, anything, so long as it will take away the dreadful silence left in his wake.


End file.
